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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629711">Blind To You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody'>The_Forgotten_Nobody</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soulmates, Spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Months pass. Geralt makes no mention of colours or soulmates, and neither does Jaskier. Sometimes, Geralt wonders if the bard has received them, and just hasn’t attributed them to Geralt, or whether this is the true curse of a Witcher - to meet your soulmate but never have the bond be returned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1000</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was inspired by a prompt I saw on tumblr, about only one half of a soulmate pair getting their colours. It was almost a bit spooky how well this fit into the series. A lot of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from the show, so I cannot claim credit for it.</p><p>I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Where Witcher’s go, rumours brew. ‘Cold, unfeeling bastards’, is whispered behind palms. ‘Spawn of the devil’, is spat at their feet. ‘Destined to be alone forever’, is exclaimed in taverns. </p>
<p>Geralt has heard all of these throughout his travels, and more alongside them. </p>
<p>He never corrects them. </p>
<hr/>
<p>While it’s true that the extensive trials and rituals a Witcher undergoes means they can no longer be classed as human, it doesn’t alter the fact that they were still born one. And therefore, like all humans, they are born with a soulmate. The only difference is that, due to their extended lifespans, they could very well meet death before their soulmate is even born. </p>
<p>When Geralt was still training, if there was one thing his teachers had insisted upon them all repeatedly, it was to never seek your soulmate. Soulmates are a distraction, a burden. At best, you should receive your colours and no more. At the time, before Geralt had gained his Witcher status, he had ignored them, confident in his ability to be better than them all, to be a Witcher but still have his soulmate. </p>
<p>Mutations, time and experience have long since squashed that naive optimism, and instead, Geralt came up with a new plan. A plan that allows him the comfort of not concerning himself about whether today is that day it will happen, allows him to ignore the anticipation that thrums beneath his skin despite it all. </p>
<p>Still, when Geralt steps into a tavern and spies a bard singing in the corner, and his world comes alive in a way he never could have imagined, it takes all his willpower not to turn back around and walk away. It is what his teachers would have demanded he do, but they’re dead, and Geralt has a plan. A plan he <em>will</em> follow, no matter how strong the urge to flee wars with the urge to stride over there and discover everything about this man who is apparently destined to be his. </p>
<p>The bard, his soulmate, ignores Geralt as he walks to the bar and in turn, Geralt does his best to respond in kind. He buys a pint and settles in a seat in the corner of the room. He drinks, and from his vantage point, observes. </p>
<p>His soulmate’s voice is good, but his lyrics are tacky. He is handsome too, but young. So young that Geralt’s insides twist. He does not look like a man who has faced creatures that belong in nightmares alone, or one who has stared death in the face and greeted it like an old friend. He doesn’t even look like he’s ever held a sword. </p>
<p>He doesn’t belong in Geralt’s world in the slightest. </p>
<p>His fingers curl on the table. </p>
<p>Geralt turns his attention to the colour of the table. There is more to simple wood than he first thought, and his eyes trace the multitude of shades that interweave tightly. This, at least, he can use to his advantage. It will take time, learning this new world, but once he has he will be able to navigate it even better than before...  </p>
<p>“I love the way you just...sit in the corner and brood.”</p>
<p>Geralt tenses, his heart rate picking up ever so slightly. He glances to once side and it’s the bard. Strange, Geralt thinks. He doesn’t look like a man who has laid sight on the one fated to be his match. He doesn’t bear the tell-tale signs of a man whose view has been irreversibly changed. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, it isn’t uncommon for the connection to spark at different times between pairs. Geralt had just hoped, for his soulmate’s sake, it wouldn’t be this way around. His plan to allow his soulmate to receive their colours, make sure they’re comfortable and then leave them in peace, suddenly flies out the window. </p>
<p>“I’m here to drink alone.” Perhaps this is a sign. If this bard has not received his colours, then a force out there must be telling him that he’s got what he desired - a soulmate who need not be burdened with the knowledge that their soulmate is a Witcher and can never be with them. </p>
<p>He ignores the part of him, the part that he had thought had died long ago, that wilts in disappointment. </p>
<p>“Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except for you. Come on, you don’t want to keep a man with...bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”</p>
<p>It takes a brave soul to sit across from a Witcher with no job proposal. Perhaps he has got his colours after all, Geralt muses. Maybe he has adapted well and wants Geralt to acknowledge it first. Perhaps he wants Geralt to prove that he is a man worthy of him. A man unafraid to make grand declarations. </p>
<p>“They don’t exist.” </p>
<p>Geralt is not going to be that man. </p>
<p>“What don’t exist?” </p>
<p>“The creatures in your song.” Geralt supposes he can at least give his soulmate this, if nothing else.</p>
<p>“And how would you know?” </p>
<p>Geralt is tiring of the conversation now. Either the bard has got his colours, and is hiding it well, or he doesn’t and he won’t. The plan had only allowed for the instance that they both received their colours at the same time and if that isn’t going to happen, he doesn’t need to entertain this conversation any longer. He stays quiet, hoping his soulmate will take the hint. </p>
<p>He does, but it’s the wrong one. </p>
<p>“Oh, fun. White hair...big, old loner, two very...very scary looking swords. I know who you are.” </p>
<p>Geralt stands. He doesn’t have time for this. Fate has had its laugh, has scorned him once more, so he doesn’t need to allow this to continue. He walks, but annoyingly, the bard follows. </p>
<p>“You’re the Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. Called it!” </p>
<p>Geralt leaves the tavern, intending for the bard to tire and find some new source of amusement but still, he pursues him. Like an annoying, yappy gnat. </p>
<p>“Allow me to help you!” He calls after Geralt. “I have been dying to see a Witcher in action. For you to come in my hour of need is far too great an opportunity to pass up!”</p>
<p>“And that’s it?” Geralt asks, stopping so sharply the bard nearly crashes into him. </p>
<p>“What’s it?” His grey, innocent eyes are wide with curiosity. He stares at Geralt as if he doesn’t know how easy it would be for the Witcher to kill him where he stands. </p>
<p>He would die before he even saw the blade. </p>
<p>“You just want to watch me kill something?” </p>
<p>“Well, yes! You’re correct in that the creatures I sing of are fictional, and therefore, I need to see something real! Something inspiring! And you, good, sir, are just the man to provide that inspiration. I can tell.”</p>
<p>Geralt searches the bard’s face for something to prove that he’s lying, that he knows. It could be that he is an accomplished actor, a spy maybe, but if Geralt trusts anything, it’s his instincts and they are telling him that his man is nothing but a bard. A young, naive, bard. How fate had decided he was to be his soulmate, Geralt will never know. </p>
<p>“No,” Geralt grunts. He immediately starts walking away. </p>
<p>The bard, Jaskier, he later learns, follows. </p>
<p>He always follows. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Months pass. Geralt makes no mention of colours or soulmates, and neither does Jaskier. Sometimes, Geralt wonders if the bard has received them, and just hasn’t attributed them to Geralt, or whether this is the true curse of a Witcher - to meet your soulmate but never have the bond be returned. </p>
<p>Often, Geralt wonders why he continues to let Jaskier travel with him. The bard is annoying, weak and gets in far too much trouble. He is not even close to the person Geralt imagined his soulmate being, but then, he is also kind. He can find humour in any situation. He can find hope where Geralt only sees darkness. He can tread the same path as Geralt and trust that the Witcher will keep him out of harm’s way. He can call Geralt a friend, even though Geralt has done little to deserve that title. </p>
<p>He’s even managing to slowly improve Geralt’s reputation, something the Witcher had thought impossible. </p>
<p>One night, as they sit beside the campfire and Jaskier is idly plucking his lute, the topic finally comes up. </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, to see the wonders of the world alight</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>To bring to life, this pile of shite</em>
</p>
<p>jaskier huffs, clearly unimpressed with his lyrics, and the puff of air blows against hair that hangs low over his forehead. It’s getting too long. The journey to Lyria has taken far longer than he wanted, not only because of the unpredictable weather conditions but because despite his insistence that Jaskier travel alone and find warmer climates, the bard continues to insist that he wants to ‘rough it like a Witcher’, thus meaning that Geralt needs to make further accommodations for him. </p>
<p>“Geralt, what do you suppose it’s like,” Jaskier asks, his finger plucking the same string over and over again. “Seeing colours, I mean. It seems quite unfair that your whole perception of the world relies on one individual. I know it will happen eventually, it’s rare to hear of couples that don’t find each other, but I don’t really enjoy waiting all that much.” </p>
<p>He looks over to Geralt, who has stopped sharpening his sword. It would be a cruel trick to play, to pretend he doesn’t already have them, and while Jaskier is many things, he is certainly not cruel. </p>
<p>It should relieve him because it means that Jaskier has not secretly been harbouring ridiculous notions in his head that they might mean something more to each other, but there’s a strange, faint burning sensation in his chest. For the connection not to become mutual after a few weeks is odd, but not entirely uncommon. For it not to become mutual after four months is practically unheard of. Is there a chance that Jaskier is just unable to get his colours because Geralt is a Witcher? Or does Jaskier have his own soulmate out there, someone who is not Geralt? Someone who can fulfill his desires and be the match he deserves. </p>
<p>“I don’t know what it would be like,” Geralt offers shortly, and Jaskier sighs, resting his chin upon a fist and staring despondently into the fire. </p>
<p>“I suppose I should be grateful. I’m young, after all. Wouldn’t do to deny my body the opportunity to please all those willing souls out there. I am quite the charmer, I’ve been told.” </p>
<p>The idea of Jaskier with others, pleasing them, and being pleased in turn, increases the burn and he grits his teeth.</p>
<p>“You should be with one of them now, then,” he snaps before retiring to the tent and leaving Jaskier open-mouthed in his wake.  </p>
<hr/>
<p>When Jaskier helps Geralt prepare for the banquet, the one he’s begrudgingly agreed to act as a glorified bodyguard for, every touch from the bard lights sparks across his skin. He has always thought Jaskier handsome, purely objectively, but now the intense focus on his face as he rubs disgustingly sweet ointments into Geralt skin, the way the firelight catches his eyes, it makes Geralt <em>desire</em> in ways he has not before. </p>
<p>Geralt is not ashamed of his body, but being bare while Jaskier remains fully clothed, displaying himself before the bard’s critical eye, it makes him feel vulnerable. This man, regardless of whether or not he ever claims Geralt, is Geralt’s. He holds a part of Geralt that he does not, and maybe never, know. </p>
<p>From Jaskier, Geralt wants many things. He wants the bard to shut up, he wants him to have a modicum of self-preservation. He wants him to turn around and never look back. </p>
<p>He also wants him to look at Geralt and know. He wants to take that fucking mouth and claim it with his own. He wants Jaskier to be <em>his</em>, not the ladies and lords he brags about fucking to whoever will listen. </p>
<p>“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with,” Jaskier says while Geralt is in the bath. </p>
<p>“I want nothing,” Geralt responds abruptly. </p>
<p>“Well, who knows. Maybe someone out there will want you. I don’t believe that rubbish about Witcher’s not having soulmates. I’m sure they’re out there somewhere, just counting down the days until they meet you.” Jaskier kneels by the bath, and Geralt has to turn away, lest he say something he regrets. Does something untoward. </p>
<p>“I want nothing. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” He does not often lie to Jaskier. Omit the truth, yes, but not lie. But now, there is no other alternative, because he knows now that as much as he pushes Jaskier away, as much as he claims they are still not friends, he takes pleasure from Jaskier seeking him out, wanting him, even if it is just for a new story to sing. </p>
<p>“And yet, here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is low, enticing and for a second, Geralt wonders if this is the moment, if it has finally happened but he quickly dismisses the idea. He knows Jaskier. There would be far more dramatics. </p>
<p>“Hm.” He can’t hold Jaskier’s gaze and as he turns his attention, he notices something. </p>
<p>“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier.” </p>
<p>The moment is ruined, and for that, Geralt couldn’t be more grateful. </p>
<hr/>
<p>They say that time heals all wounds. Geralt thinks the saying is a pile of shit because, with every year that passes, his just grow larger. </p>
<hr/>
<p>The ache in Geralt’s chest, the space devoid of a bond he doesn’t want to want, is easier to ignore when Jaskier does as Geralt asks and travels alone. When he is near, Geralt is forced to restrain himself, to pretend he has not yet met his soulmate. It is tiring, but necessary, because the moment Jaskier catches even a hint that Geralt might see more than dull greys, he will demand details Geralt cannot provide. He will push until Geralt says something unforgivable. </p>
<p>These emotions, things he wishes the rumours were true about and that he could not feel, distract Geralt. They impede his focus on a hunt, plague his nights so that his sleep is restless; if he even gets it in the first place. </p>
<p>It cannot continue. </p>
<p>It’s a passing merchant who shares hearsay of a djinn sitting beneath a nearby river and it triggers an idea in Geralt’s mind. There have been no tales of it, but if anything can break a soul bond, it would be a djinn. </p>
<p>He begins fishing immediately, but the task is more difficult than first anticipated. Finding a djinn is never a simple task, otherwise common folk would be making wishes every other day and the world would be in chaos, but he had hoped that with his skills and hell, his desperation, he’d find it quicker than the days it is currently taking. </p>
<p>In fact, he takes so long that eventually, he hears a voice that prompts equal amounts of longing, desire, despair and frustration. He tries to drown Jaskier out, to keep focused on his task, but as always, the bard manages to break through his defences. </p>
<p>“How are you doing, I hear you ask.” </p>
<p>“I didn’t,” he grunts. </p>
<p>“Well, the Countess de Stael, my muse and beauty of this world has left me. Again. Rather coldly and unexpectedly, I might add.” </p>
<p>Geralt hides his pleased smirk behind his arm as he deals with the net. When Jaskier had mentioned her during their previous encounter, when he had burdened Geralt with knowledge of her so explicit it had required meditation to cleanse his mind of it, he had wanted to kill her. Only briefly, mind you, and he had felt a morsel of shame about it, but the desire had undeniably been there. The logical side of Geralt wants Jaskier to be happy. The selfish, primal part of him wants Jaskier to be only his. </p>
<p>“I fear I shall die a brokenhearted man. Or a hungry one, at the very least, unless somebody fancies sharing a fish with an old friend. Oh, are we not using ‘friend’? Yeah sure, let’s just give it another decade.”</p>
<p>Geralt stalks off, net in hand. A decade of this is a decade too many. </p>
<p>“Geralt, you’re fantastic at a great many things, but clearly, fishing is not one of them. Have you caught anything today? What are you fishing for, exactly? Is it cod? Carp? Pike? Bream? I’m just...I’m just listing fish that I know. Zander, is that a fish?” </p>
<p>Gods save him from infuriating, yet still frustratingly endearing, bards. </p>
<p>“I’m not fishing,” Geralt tells him. “I can’t sleep.” Not the crux of the problem, but hopefully enough that Jaskier will shut up and let him work in peace. </p>
<p>“Right. Good. Well, that makes sense. Insomuch that it sort of...doesn’t.” </p>
<p>Apparently not. For fuck’s sake. </p>
<p>“What’s going on, Geralt? Talk to me.”</p>
<p><em>You</em> are the problem, Geralt doesn’t say. Instead, he says, “A djinn.” </p>
<p>“A what?” </p>
<p>“I’m looking for a djinn.”</p>
<p>Jaskier continues to question him as he readies the net again until Geralt snaps, “Yes, it’ll grant me wishes. It’s in this lake somewhere and I can’t fucking sleep!”</p>
<p>And then Jaskier has the gall to ask him about addressing the root of the problem, attributing it to Cintra as if the real root isn’t standing two fucking feet away from him, completely ignorant to the torment his very existence causes Geralt. </p>
<p>“No, it’s not that,” Geralt bites out as he throws the net into the water. </p>
<p>“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jaskier says, and Geralt’s exhausted mind almost takes that as an admission, that he knows, or it’s happened, but then he adds, “But what if you’re not?”</p>
<p>Geralt wonders who exactly he’s pissed off enough to deserve this.  </p>
<p>He also wonders how the hell they’ve turned the topic of conversation to Jaskier’s singing of all things. </p>
<p>“It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling,” he ends up saying because he just wants Jaskier to shut the fuck up and leave him alone so he can get the djinn and destroy this cursed connection. </p>
<p>“You,” Jaskier gasps,” Need a nap!”</p>
<p>Geralt barely hears him, however, because he’s finally fucking caught something. He rushes to pull the net out and sinks to his knees. Inside is a clay container, the lid bearing a familiar seal. </p>
<p>The djinn. </p>
<p>Fucking finally. Finally, this will all come to an end. </p>
<p>But then, Jaskier gets his hands on it. </p>
<p>“Take back that bit about a fillingless pie. Take it back and then you can have your djinny-djin-djin.”</p>
<p>“Let go,” Geralt orders, keeping his anger at bay because as annoying and determined as Jaskier is, he has no strength to speak of. </p>
<p>Except, it turns out that it doesn’t matter, because Geralt’s fatigued body betrays him, and his fingers slip for an instance, opening the seal. In barely any time at all, Jaskier is making two stupid wishes, the container is smashed, and Jaskier is gasping for air. He’s gasping Geralt’s name as he collapses, dying because of Geralt’s selfishness. </p>
<p>Geralt wastes no time. He lifts Jaskier on the back of Roach and rides. He pushes Roach to her limits, feeling Jaskier’s weak, fading form on his back. Hears him cough blood and still continue to rasp Geralt’s name as if it’s the only thing he can say. </p>
<p>Geralt had always known he would cause his soulmate nothing but pain if he stayed with them, but never has it been as true as it is in this moment. </p>
<p>Their first attempt for help leads to a dead end, with them only obtaining a tincture to ease Jaskier’s pain. He tries to remain collected, to exude the confidence he knows Jaskier is seeking from him, but inside his emotions are wild, struggling against the confines they’ve been bound in for so long. It is almost terrifying, what he would give to see Jaskier well again, to never see his fine clothing stained with dark, viscid blood. </p>
<p>They end up finding Yennefer of Vengerberg and she saves Jaskier. The relief Geralt feels is indescribable and when he looks at Yennefer, he sees a beautiful, strong woman. A woman who is capable of handling Geralt, who can and has borne the burden of a life filled with bloodshed and death, a woman he could care for. He uses his third wish to tie their fates together, to seal himself with her, and leave Jaskier free, and Geralt free in turn. </p>
<p>He believes it has worked as he welcomes Yennefer’s eager body upon his own when he spies Jaskier through the window, alive and whole. </p>
<p>Only one word comes to mind at that moment. </p>
<p>Shit. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Geralt does not know what his wish has done, but he knows he is now as tied to Yennefer as he still seems to be with Jaskier. Being with Yennefer though, loving her, it is easier and so Geralt throws himself into it as best he can. </p>
<p>It works until it doesn’t. </p>
<p>Yennefer finds out about his wish, and immediately leaves him. And then Jaskier finds him, right at the moment Geralt is wondering how fate could have screwed him not just once over, but twice. Finally, Geralt does what he’s been trying to prevent all along. </p>
<p>He lashes out. He shouts all his frustrations to Jaskier, placing the blame solely on his shoulders. He hurts the man he loves, despite everything, but who can never, and will never, love him in return. </p>
<p>Jaskier leaves and Geralt tells himself it’s for the best. He has a child to find, after all, and he cannot afford to be distracted. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“There is something else,” she murmurs lowly. “When I was identifying the curse, I didn’t just find the one that bitch struck him with. There’s another one there, something old, potentially centuries old. I haven’t yet had time to ascertain what it is, but I do know that it affects his eyes.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Turns out this was a lot easier to edit than the first half! So have it a bit earlier than expected :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt may not have Jaskier or Yennefer, but he has Ciri. Having a child was never a goal of his; like he told Yennefer - their lives were not conducive to child-rearing, but Ciri is a breath of fresh air. She guides him back when his thoughts darken and wander to places they shouldn’t. She tells him stories her carers told her when she was small, replacing those told by a baritone, melodic voice. She reminds him that the world is not completely doomed, that there is still space for hope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since looking after Ciri, his days have become quieter. He splits his time between ensuring they aren’t being followed, training Ciri, and keeping their pockets full enough that they are able to lead a semi-comfortable life. It’s due to this new semblance of peace that he immediately notices the sudden thrum of magic vibrating through their campsite, signalling that a portal has opened nearby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay here, Ciri.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There should only be one mage capable of locating them, and sure enough, Yennefer is striding towards him. Her posture is stiff and her hands are clenched by her sides. Geralt would think her merely furious, if not for her eyes. They betray her worry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something is wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your bard, he’s hurt. Cursed. He asked for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s heart skips a beat, and he inhales sharply. “What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We were both attending the same ball. He was performing. An old acquaintance of mine was there too. She attempted to curse me when I turned my back on her. Jaskier, the fool, got in the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the damage?” Geralt pretends that it’s not Jaskier they are talking about, that it is simply some important nobleman whose death would simply inconvenience them, so they ought to at least try to prevent it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The curse was designed to slowly drain my magic, unnoticeable until I was close to death, too weak to get help. To a human...it is slowly attacking him from the inside, attacking flesh and bone instead of the magic it was designed for. It causes a great deal of pain. I have managed to stabilise him for now, but the cure requires the light of a full moon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two days time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer nods. “I am doing my best to keep him alive until then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes even more sense why Yen is here now. She could have ignored Jaskier’s pleas if this had been a simple ailment. To deny the man who saved your life a final wish would be cold even for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if that wish is Geralt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the corner of his eyes, Geralt spies Ciri’s head peeking through the tent flap. He gestures her forward, watching as Yennefer’s eyes widen. He will explain everything to her, but not now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take me to him.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The portal takes them just outside Yennefer’s house, which looks to be an old, decrepit cottage until they step inside. Inside reveals a modest, but cosy living space with corridors spanning out each direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He is through there, the first door on the right,” Yennefer says, tilting her head towards the north corridor. “I have potions to help with the pain but he can only take them every four hours. He may take another when the sun has fully risen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt nods and is about to go to Jaskier when Yennefer grabs his arm, holding tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is something else,” she murmurs lowly. “When I was identifying the curse, I didn’t just find the one that bitch struck him with. There’s another one there, something old, potentially centuries old. I haven’t yet had time to ascertain what it is, but I do know that it affects his eyes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yennefer’s own eyes are knowing and Geralt’s jaw clenches, the sick feeling in his stomach growing ten-fold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A curse that afflicts the eyes, but to his knowledge hasn’t impeded Jaskier’s sight beyond the lack of colours? He swallows, tells Ciri to stay with Yen, and then goes to his bard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t knock before he enters, but he is careful in his movements so that he doesn’t disturb Jaskier. The room is dark, the windows covered, but there are a few candles lit. There is a faint moaning sound coming from a lump on the bed, and Geralt gravitates towards it, hand outreaching instinctively before he pulls it back. He spots a stool and moves it towards the bed before sitting on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier.” His voice is quiet, in case Jaskier is sleeping, but the lump beneath the sheet freezes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“G-Geralt?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt ends up needing to help Jaskier turn around, as the bard is quickly overcome by a set of violent twitches and tremors, each one causing him to hiss and groan in pain. Geralt aches to do something, to fix it, but there is nothing he can do. He’s fucking helpless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Jaskier’s face finally turns to him, it’s pale and damp with sweat. His eyes are glassy but still alert when they focus on Geralt. The Witcher has imagined seeing Jaskier again, but not like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I dead?” Jaskier croaks and Geralt rolls his eyes for appearance’s sake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, and you won’t be any time soon,” Geralt tells him. It’s rare for Geralt to make such assurances, especially since Yen’s prognosis had not been optimistic, but seeing Jaskier like this, knowing what he knows, he can’t lose Jaskier now. Fate or whatever bastard has been fucking with Geralt thus far can go screw itself. Geralt will do all he can to help Jaskier cling on until the cure is ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” A bead of sweat runs down the side of Jaskier’s face and instead of answering straight away, Geralt grabs a piece of cloth and wets it with some cold water. He drapes it across Jaskier’s forehead and the bard sighs in relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yen found me. Said you asked for me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...don’t actually remember that. But, you came?” His eyes flutter shut as another wave of pain undoubtedly hits. Geralt’s hand moves on its own accord and grips Jaskier’s, allowing him to squeeze it as hard as he needs to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, Jaskier recognises the joke and the corner of his mouth tilts up. Geralt wants to say more, has a lot he ought to say, but as per usual, he doesn’t know where to begin. He is running through ways of how best to apologise when-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I forgive you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s smile is crooked. His eyes, though creased from pain, are open and full of fondness. “I forgive you. Even if you weren’t just thinking about apologising to me, I can’t go without you knowing that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt has suffered many blows, but this one hurts worst of all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are not going to die,” he says sharply. “And I am. I am sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve my anger that day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“True,” Jaskier says, “But let’s talk of it no more. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods above, what Geralt wouldn’t do to have Jaskier standing in front of him, face alive with glee as he prodded Geralt to give him a better apology, to grovel on his knees or maybe even try his hand at composing his own apology ballad. Anything other than this, this which feels like an ending. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needs to talk about something else, anything else, but unfortunately, the only thing he can think to say is, “Jaskier, Yen said you have another curse.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, another one? I think this one is bad enough. Go on, what is it? Curse of forever being annoying? Of never shutting up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She said it afflicted your eyes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s smile fades. “My eyes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt nods. “She couldn’t give me any more information apart from that it seemed old.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice is quiet. “I didn’t...I mean I thought...shit,” he breathes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Geralt asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier licks his dried, cracked lips. “When I was a child, maybe about nine, my grandfather came to visit. He took me aside and said that he had something to tell me, something my father had forbidden him from mentioning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Agh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jaskier grips Geralt’s hand with both of his and Geralt uses his free hand to cup them, trying to stabilise the shakes. He takes a few deep breaths before continuing. “He told me that my family was cursed. That an ancestor of ours had cheated on his soulmate, a sorceress. She had been so angry that she cursed him, and their children, and the rest of their line. She cursed them never to find their soulmate so that they wouldn’t be able to put them through the pain she went through. He said that my grandmother was not his soulmate, that he never got his colours, and that my father was lying when he said he had his. Of course, my father came in not long after that and threw him out. Said he was a crazy old fool and that I should take no heed of it. So, I didn’t. I thought, I thought I just hadn’t met them yet, but, oh Melitele, Geralt, what if…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt should not have brought this up. The only thing that could soothe Jaskier now is the very thing that might send him to an early grave from shock. He has no idea how the bard will react to knowing that Geralt gained his colours from him years ago and said nothing. That he has deceived him for over a decade.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will look into it when you’re better,” Geralt tells him. “I promise. I’m sure, given time, Yennefer will be able to find a cure for that as well.” It’s the best he can do, considering the circumstances and thankfully, though he doesn’t look entirely appeased, he accepts Geralt’s words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should get some sleep,” Geralt says before he lets something else fucking stupid slip, and Jaskier graces him with a pained smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would love to, Geralt. As it is, I don’t think the, </span>
  <em>
    <span>agh fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the pain will let me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to give Jaskier one of the numbing potions sat on the table, but he also knows that too much and it will just end up poisoning Jaskier, worsening his condition quicker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I do to help?” He hates this. He hates this with a fucking passion. He wishes there were something he could swing his sword at, something physical he could see and destroy to make this better. Sitting beside someone’s bedside...he doesn’t know how to do this. It doesn’t feel like enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me a story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A story, Geralt. Has a beginning, middle and an end. Tell me one. Not too bloody, if you please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not asking for much, so Geralt cannot see fit to deny him the small request, despite the fact he has no clue what to tell. He scours his memory for something at least marginally pleasant when an old sight from the beginning of his travels hits him. Geralt replaces the cloth on Jaskier’s head that has already warmed, holds Jaskier’s hand once more, and begins. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“During my first year of travelling, I visited a village that is now long gone. The people there, they kept to themselves. Grew their own produce, sourced all the materials they needed. They didn’t listen to the gossip from the outside towns. I was apparently the first Witcher they’d seen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Must have been exciting for them,” Jaskier says and Geralt shrugs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They treated me as I believe they would have treated any stranger who wandered through their village, as long as they meant no harm. My swords made them wary, but they still treated me to a hot dinner and gave me a bed to sleep in. When the carpenter mentioned seeing ghouls nearby, I gladly dealt with them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always the hero.” Jaskier’s voice is quieter as he shuts his eyes, his head settling more comfortably on the pillow beneath it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As thanks, the villagers told me of a spring a few miles away. They said that it offered a certain tranquillity you would struggle to find elsewhere. I decided to visit, to see for myself and it was...amazing. It held a waterfall, surrounded by flowers which must have been planted by a mage because they belonged in climates far warmer. Animals roamed freely around the parts and there was a stone beside it that you could sit on, bathed in the sun’s light no matter its position in the sky. For years, when I struggled to meditate, I would go there. For a long time, it was the only place I felt at peace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Geralt finishes talking, he notices that Jaskier’s face is lax, soft snores coming from him. He still holds onto Geralt’s hand though, and Geralt cannot bring himself to let go. He shuts his eyes, pictures the clearing that has long since been destroyed by invading troops and eager, land-hungry nobility, and imagines bringing Jaskier there. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>With every hour, Jaskier’s condition worsens. When he manages to stay conscious longer than a few minutes, Geralt continues to tell him stories, many from when he was young and still finding his feet as a Witcher, when the world was less burdened by darkness and demons. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Jaskier can only wake to take potions that immediately knock him out again, he finds Yen. He asks her for more, for something to help Jaskier until he is screaming in her face. She never loses her calm though, she just tells him to get back in there, do whatever Jaskier needs, and keep him from slipping. Geralt does his best until the four-hour mark has passed and Jaskier’s eyes can no longer open, and the rise and fall of his chest becomes shallower. The full moon is only an hour away, but Yen still needs to create the potion in that time, and Jaskier can’t hold on much longer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surely you can fucking start now,” Geralt snaps as Jaskier’s pulse slows further beneath his fingertips. Yennefer has set up everything she needs in Jaskier’s room, but she’s just standing there, waiting, while Jaskier’s life fades in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I’ve told you, the potion will only work if started at the precise moment the full moon has risen.” She’s anxious too, Geralt can tell, but at that moment, he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is that she heals Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt turns back to Jaskier and lifts the bard’s hand to his lips, not pressing a kiss against it, but holding it in prayer. He’s not prayed in decades, has never thought it worth his time, but now he prays, he prays to anyone out there that might be listening to save Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s time.” Geralt hears Yennefer prepare the potion and keeps his gaze fixed on Jaskier’s pale face. He cannot see the curse itself, but he can see its effects. Every breath Jaskier takes is a struggle, sending tremors running down his spine. Veins poke through his sickly skin and his pulse continues to slow down even more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry,” Geralt orders through gritted teeth. Yen doesn’t answer, just continues in silence until she’s shoving Geralt aside and pouring a potion down Jaskier’s throat. She massages his throat, encouraging the bard to swallow it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on you idiotic, self-sacrificing bard,” Yennefer coaxes as the potion is ingested. Geralt can still feel Jaskier’s pulse, can still feel it dying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not working, Yen. Why isn’t it working?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must need time to take effect,” Yen snaps. “Contrary to popular belief, I do not know everything and I have never had to make this particular potion before!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make it work!” Geralt roars, letting go of Jaskier’s hand as he stands, the stool clattering to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop acting like an overgrown child having a tantrum!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry that the fact my soulmate is dying is fucking upsetting me!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, your what now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both Yennefer and Geralt spin to face the bed. Jaskier’s eyes are open, if a bit dazed, and already colour is returning to his face. Shakes still run through his body but they’re better than they were. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next to him, a smirk blossoms on Yennefer’s face. “I believe you two ought to have a little talk. You can apologise to me in the morning, you oaf. Don’t worry about Ciri.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She checks Jaskier’s eyes and pulse before nodding in satisfaction and leaving. Geralt, as much as he wants to be here, witnessing Jaskier’s alive form, holding him, also wants to follow her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s just happened?” Jaskier asks. He checks his body over, wincing as he leans up in the bed. It’s instinctive that Geralt helps him. His hand lingers on the bard’s shoulder, unable to break contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You nearly died.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gathered that. And I gather that I’m better now? Well, mostly?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Yen made the cure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great, great. Wonderful. Um. So. That thing you just said. The soulmate thing. Care to explain?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt would rather not if he’s honest. At least, not now. Maybe after he’s had some ale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck it. “You’re my soulmate.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha, it’s funny Geralt, I think I must still be feeling the effects of the curse because it sounded like you just said I’m your soulmate and that would be impossible.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “It’s the truth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s face, which had been regaining its healthy colour, starts to turn pink. He jerks so that Geralt’s hand leaves his shoulder, and Geralt tries to ignore how the action stings.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, see, it can’t be true, because my good friend Geralt would not have kept something like this a secret from me for over 10 years. He would have said something because that’s what people do, they tell a person if they give them their colours. If they’re their soulmate.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt feels rooted to the spot, has never felt more uncomfortable in his whole life. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go. He at least wanted time beforehand, so they could both appreciate Jaskier being healed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t get your colours. I thought it wasn’t returned.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s palm covers his mouth as he thinks. “Right, right, I understand how that might have been a bit concerning but still, Geralt, Melitele’s tits. When did you get them? That...the curse. Fucking shit! 10 years!” He grabs fistfuls of his hair and Geralt takes a step forward, reaching out but not daring to touch this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful. You’re still healing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier glares at him, and as if making a stubborn point, decides the best course of action is to try and get out of bed. His legs quickly collapse under him and it’s only Geralt’s quick reflexes that save him from dropping to the floor. It leaves Jaskier in Geralt’s arms, and Geralt fights the urge not to draw him even closer and never let him go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier solves that urge by punching him in the arm. It hurts little more than getting hit with a twig, but it still stuns him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are a fucking idiot, imbecile, oh, toss a coin to your witcher, how about toss a coin to this absolute pisshead! You, 10 years! 10 fucking years! And the curse... we could have sorted through this so much earlier!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, unsure what else he can say that won’t earn him another punch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier mocks. “You, my dear Witcher, have got a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of making up to do. And I mean absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it. Go on, tell me when you got your colours. Let’s find out how long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt hesitates before saying, “The moment I saw you in that tavern.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier pauses, and his mouth falls open. “You...I...I don’t know whether to hit you again or kiss you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Want spikes, sudden and sharp, in Geralt’s stomach. “I find the second option preferable,” he says, voice low with cautious want and Jaskier reacts to the tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking Witcher. You are so lucky I love you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier kisses Geralt, putting as much will and force behind it as he can, but since he’s still recovering, Geralt takes the opportunity to turn it softer and deepen it slowly. He keeps one palm flat on Jaskier’s back to steady him and moves the other hand to cradle his neck. Jaskier’s breath tastes horrible from the potions he’s been fed, and he smells stale for having been in bed for days, but he’s awake. He’s Geralt’s, and Geralt is his. Except...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if we find a cure for your sight and it’s not me,” Geralt says when they part, trying to hide how much that would hurt him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Screw a cure,” Jaskier says vehemently. “I have wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>assumed</span>
  </em>
  <span> that since you never said anything, you were just waiting for your soulmate. Whom I thought was Yennefer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah. That would be a story for another time. Perhaps when he can soften the blow with some glorious make-up sex, he’ll tell it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was you. It’s always been you. At first, I didn’t want a soulmate, and then, later, I didn’t want to stop you from finding happiness.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier sighs. “Melitele save me from noble Witchers. I can’t believe you never noticed how I was head over heels for you.” He bites his lip, and Geralt resists the urge to capture it between his own teeth. “Tell me. Is this only because of fate? Would you still want me if you hadn’t got your colours?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They alerted me to you,” Geralt admits. “But you were the one to approach me. I didn’t want to like you Jaskier. Fuck, I wanted to keep you as far away from me as possible, but you didn’t, and then I couldn’t imagine a world without you. I thought I was keeping you safe by pushing you away. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you can make it up to me by going to bed with me,” Jaskier says promptly, and Geralt has to wonder what expression must be on his face because Jaskier laughs. “Not like that you horny devil. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nearly dying really takes it out of you and I’ve been wishing to be held by those arms for years. You can begin making everything up to me in all sorts of fun positions later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” is all Geralt says and Jaskier laughs again as he gets back into bed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For once, Geralt follows.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please consider leaving a kudos or comment if you liked this! :)</p>
<p>I do have yet another idea for a Witcher fic (this one maybe a bit more humorous) but I would love to hear any other ideas people have!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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